Flying with Broken Wings
by Lemon Kitten
Summary: In August of 1844, a child was born to a father who despises and fears him, and a mother who could never understand love. Eleven years later, see him tumble into the land of Witchcraft and Wizardry, overwhelmed by the beauty and the power of magic.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

I was born by a lake.

My mother, concerned about pains she was experiencing in her abdomen, walked towards the family lake. A medicine woman, many years beforehand, had convinced her that the scent of fresh water aided in healing. It was alright. She didn't know any better.

She also didn't know what was happening when she pushed me out, and I saw the light.

I was told I didn't cry.

My mother picked me up after the labor, and somehow walked back to the house, then collapsed. My father left her in the entranceway as he lifted me, took me to a neighboring chapel, and bestowed upon my trembling, not-crying body, my Christian name: Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, first son of the Dumbledore family, given a Baronship by His Majesty, George the Third, in the Year of Our Lord, 1778.

**Flying with Broken Wings**  
The Albus Dumbledore Story  
by Lemon Kitten 

Mama was humming when I woke up. I opened my eyes and looked over at her. She was sewing at a shirt I'd ripped the day before.

"Albus, my baby!" she said, noticing. "Come sit on me."

I crawled into her lap. Mama hugged me with her arms, and I felt a sudden, sharp stab on the side of my hand. A tiny drop of red floated onto the white. I looked at it, wondering how it had gotten there. I saw Mama was on her fifth layer of thread; she tried her best to make certain the shirt wouldn't fall apart again.

Mother noticed the blood. She touched it with her index finger, pushed me off her lap, and shook the shirt at me. "What do you think you're doing, Albus? You ruined my work. What do you think… what do you think you're doing? I'd been working all night. Albus!" Standing up, she crumpled up the fabric. "Why would you do that? I'd been working all night. What do you think you're doing?"

Then she walked out of the room.

I followed her as she called for Auntie Summers, the lady in the black dress. The shirt was hidden between the folds of her skirt.

Auntie Summers appeared in front of Mama with a pop. Her eyes looked upset.

"Amelia, what are you screaming about? You've woken the entire house." She put her hands on Mama's back, then looked at me.

Auntie Summers was old. Mama told me that she'd been her nurse and tutor as long as she could remember. Staring at Auntie Summers wrinkly thin hands, I knew she had to be at least over one hundred. Her hair was all silver and grey and flew out all over the place from the big knot she wore at the back of her head. Her eyes were lined around the edges, but looked like mine.

"Albus ru-ruined my shirt!" Mother yelled, making the shirt appear from her skirts and wagging it in front of Auntie Summers. "I worked on it all night. He was si-sitting on my lap and he ruined it! He was sitting on my lap. I worked on it all night! But he turned it red! I worked on it all night."

Auntie Summers took my old shirt and winked at me while she hugged Mama. "Don't worry, Amelia darling, I'll be able to get the stain out." Ms. Summers looked at the sewed up fabric and moved her old wrinkly hands all over it looking for the stain. "You did very well repairing this, but dear! The stain is gone!"

My mother sniffled, looking at the bright white shirt. Auntie Summers gave me another wink. "The stain's gone." Mama blinked, and then realized I was watching. "Albus, my baby. I'm sorry. Albus my beautiful baby boy bumblebee, I'm sorry. I'm sorry Albus. I'm sorry." She opened her arms.

I ran towards her and gave her a hug, pulling my arms around her big body as far as they could go. Mama lifted me past her skirts, and walked me back to my room, stealing Sorry's and kisses all the way.

I was hiding in Mama's dresser when the sun went to sleep. I got tired, too. In fact, I didn't even realize when Mama came into the room, or when Auntie Summers found me sleeping in the small space and clucked her tongue. But I did hear Mama giggle. That's when I woke up, really. Mama was moving her finger back and forth through a candle flame, falling back onto her bed when it burned her, then giggling when she started again. I almost opened the dresser to join her, but a shadow moved through the door.

Sir, Father, Sir yelled at Mama.

Sir, Father, Sir yelled at Mama loud.

"Amelia!"

The hairs on the back of my neck got all excited, and my body started, all shaky.

Sir, Father, Sir grabbed at Mama's hands and pulled them away from the candle, quickly blowing it out. He yelled a few words I didn't know, and then the room was all dark from the night and all I could hear was my own quick ins and outs and Sir, Father, Sir's angry yelling and ripping.

"You heinous thing! You might have burned down the house! Killed my son!"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Dumbledore, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, Mr. Dumbledore, I was just playing, I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

I heard the bed squeak. More ripping.

"No more playing! You're a bad influence on my son!"

"Please, please please please, I'm sorry, Mr. Dumbledore, please, I'm sorry, I was just playing, please… please don't take Albus from his Mama, please please, Mr. Dumbledore!"

"You," breathed Sir, Father, Sir, "don't deserve to talk with my son! You foul, dirty treacherous fiend! The devil is on you!"

I put my hands over my ears, but Sir, Father, Sir's anger still made their way through my fingers.

An odd squelch reached me in my hiding spot, and Mama's cries of Sorry's changed to "Please don't punish me, please stop, Mr. Dumbledore, please I'm sorry, Mr. Dumbledore, please stop…"

But Sir, Father, Sir only laughed and yelled about getting the bitch fatter, and all I could do was scream with my eyes shut and the rivers running down my face and when I finally opened them I had POPPED! back into my room and Auntie Summers was running inside telling me everything would be ok and to stop listening and that she was sorry, too, and that one day Sir, Father, Sir would realize he was nothing and she said this so many times that I finally started believing her and then all the rivers and all the yells and all the rips overcame me and my eyes shut and I went asleep as the sun woke up while Auntie Summers rocked me back and forth, whispering words I couldn't understand.

----

Mama sat with me in my lessons every day, moving her mouth along with the words Auntie Summers was reading while I looked at the pictures or watched mama work out the problems on her own chalk board. She had to get a special seat a long time ago 'cause she got all fat, and she couldn't tell me why, 'cause she didn't know either.

But I knew it was 'cause she was eating too much. I saw her every day at the dinner table while Sir, Father, Sir ate his food without moving his mouth. Mama's plate had more green things and meat than mine and Sir, Father, Sir's put together. Sir, Father, Sir never looked at Mama.

"Albus Percival," Sir, Father, Sir said last sun.

Mama ate her green stuff. So I did too.

"Albus Percival," he said again. Then I looked at him, eating my green stuff.

His face scrunched up and his eyes got fiery. "Speak to me you insufferable nitwit."

Then I looked at Mama, who's face was turning all red and splotchy and her rivers were dripping onto her green stuff, and I kept eating my green stuff instead.

Sir, Father, Sir got up angrily and yelled at Mr. Wilsberson to take away Mama's food, even though she was still eating, and his voice boomed out like thunder as he gripped her big belly, "Your blood will not taint this son. This son will not be like _that_."

Sir, Father, Sir pointed at me.

And I pushed my plate away. 'Cause Mama couldn't eat. At least she wouldn't get fatter.

So Auntie Summers said that Mama and I wouldn't eat dinner with Sir, Father, Sir anymore, unless he asked, and then she "couldn't do anything about that except turn him into a ferret," which Auntie Summers always cackled. I didn't think Sir, Father, Sir would like being a ferret. He'd probably make Auntie Summers go away if she did that. I didn't want Auntie Summers to go away.

Auntie Summers was teaching me and Mama to be good little boys who knew their numbers and letters. Mostly, though, she just grumbled about Stump, and so Mama and I grumbled about Stump, too.

And I learned two and two is four.

And that "d" follows "c."

And that Mungo Bonham was born in The Year of Our Lord, 1560.

And eventually that day, Auntie Summers said, "If I have to teach you more, you're going to explode with information, so you might as well go play."

Mama and I went to the lake. It looked all dark and cold outside, so Mama bundled me in three of my bright white shirts and four of my dark blue sweaters. She threw a stone into the lake and it went plop through the water and sunk to the bottom and then she looked at me so I threw one plop in too. And Mama giggled, and I ran around looking for tiny flat rocks to go plop into the lake. Mama called it "skipping stones" and so we skipped stones for what had to be days and days until the moon started waking up and the sky was full with shiny diamonds. Then Mama remembered before she lived at home, and she said she liked it here better, because she had me. I wrapped my arms as far as they could go around her big belly, and she said "sweet baby, sweet, sweet baby," and her voice was kind of mumbly like she was about to go sleep.

Mama looked at me and called me her tiny little baby bumblebee and picked me up and turned her face to the side so I gave her a kiss on the cheek and she giggled and carried me closer to the house until she had to set me down 'cause she said her stomach was all angry. So Mama and I walked back to the house, and she held my hand. Except you couldn't even tell that she was holding my hand 'cause you couldn't even see it inside of her big-nice-smooth one. Her skirt was all big and swooshed all over the grass, which crunched underneath our steps. The sky was so dark I could only see Mama's eyes and they smiled down at me so I smiled back up at her except every once in awhile she'd grab at her stomach and walk a little faster. By the time we were closer to Sir, Father, Sir's big old house, Mama's big eyes that look like mine were leaking rivers again and I got scared because she wasn't even smiling anymore and so I screamed for Auntie Summers and screamed and screamed and screamed and Auntie Summers came running through the house like lightning and looked at me all confused and distracted until she saw Mama and then her eyes got all big.

"Albus, stop screaming."

So I stopped.

Auntie Summers gathered up Mama and started taking her down towards the servant's part of the house and I grabbed at Mama's skirts because now she had started to whimper and I didn't know and when I looked down the floor behind us was all wet and there were spots of red and I almost started screaming again until Auntie Summers looked at me and shook her head and said "Albus, you need to go to your room" and I wanted to stay with Mama so I shook my head and then she just said it again but I shook my head no.

A maid came running up to Mama and Auntie Summers and me.

"I heard screaming, Miss. Is she--"

"Yes," Auntie Summers interrupted. "I need you to take Albus back to his room and _keep _him there and also to floo Lunelia Lufkin and tell her to apparate here _now."_

The maid, her face turning all grey, nodded and turned towards me.

Her arms went around me and "No! MAMA!" screamed from my mouth over and over and Auntie Summers took out a stick and pointed it at me and said "_Silencio_" and then although I tried to keep yelling nothing came out and now I needed Mama even more! but Auntie Summers had already hidden her and I wanted to scream so bad but no matter how hard I tried nothing came out.

Then the maid shut me in my room.

I felt the rivers waterfalling down my face and I pushed them away and then I couldn't breath out of my nose so I jumped on my bed and pounded the pillow with my fists but they barely made a dent. "Mama, Mama, Mama" I wanted to say but couldn't and why was there all the red? Then I got so tired that I stopped and I laid down and there was no sound but the rivers still left my eyes and there was a big soggy spot on my pillow and all I wanted was Mama.

I opened my eyes and I didn't know what had happened, but the sun was all shining and Auntie Summers was staring at me. I tried to say Mama, but nothing came out.

Auntie Summers blinked. "Oh Albus. _Finite Incantatem."_

I said "Mama?"

Auntie Summers looked out the window at the lake where Mama and I "skipped stones." She let out a big sigh and her voice got all quivery and she said, "Your Mama's gone."

"Gone?"

"And she won't be coming back."

"Where did she go? Why won't she come back? Where's my Mama? What happened to my Mama?"

Auntie Summers picked up a tea cup I didn't see behind her skirts and she handed it to me and I wanted to throw it at the wall because I was so angry and she wouldn't tell me why I couldn't see Mama. But then I saw her eyes that looked like mine and I went in and out and I saw a tiny wet drop go plop! into the cup and so I drank it.

"Your Mama's gone beyond the veil, little bumblebee." She stopped and wrapped her arms so far around me that I thought I'd never come out again. "Sleep, baby Albus. Sleep." And she closed my eyes and I went right into darkness.


	2. Chapter One

**Chapter One**

Father concerned himself with being certain that "his boys" would not turn into "that woman." He decided that it was bad enough she had "left her taint on the older one," so was determined that we would all forget she ever existed. Her name was never mentioned. Questions about her--our--family were never asked. Even Miss Summers did not speak of her, despite the fire that lurked behind her eyes whenever she stared at Father. I never understood why she remained working for our home. I never forgot the witchery she performed on me the day Aberforth was born.

"_Ab initio_, Albus. Come now, quickly."

"_Firmanus saltu non falso Mentula diues_--"

"_Mentula,_ Albus," Miss Summers said, extending her "u".

"_Ment**u**la_," I repeated.

"Very good, _Ab initio._"

Latin and history were possibly Miss Summers's two favorite subjects. For the majority of the hours that she taught me, I learned one of those two things, only rarely Maths or English Literature. Aberforth had been 'awarded' his own tutor a couple of years ago, when Miss Summers criticized his handwriting. Since then, she'd largely forgotten, or ignored, the subjects that Father wished me to learn.

"_Firmanus saltu non falso Mentula diues_  
_fertur, qui tot res in se habet egregious,_  
_aucupium omne genus, piscis, prata, arua ferasque.  
nequiquam: fructus sumptibus exsuperat.  
quare concedo sit diues, dum omnia desint.  
saltum laudemus, dum modo ipse egeat."_

"Most excellent, Albus! I'm quite impressed. However, you're rolling your 'e's, and I'm not even sure how that's possible. Also, the second 'g' in egregious is soft."

Second g, egregious, soft. Not that I was really certain what egregious meant, but that was apparently unimportant to Miss Summers. She never really felt the need to tell me what the poems I memorized meant. For the first few months I attempted to translate them on my own, but they were so confusing that I gave up. Something about girdles and a woman named _Lesbia_, both of which were things I assumed I'd never find out about. Besides, all Miss Summers wanted was the correct pronunciation. "U"s sounded like long "o"s, except, of course, when they didn't. All "t"s needed to be spoken at the end of words, except, of course, when they needn't.

Miss Summers released me to the kitchens for lunch. Because everyone was still bigger than me, I ate at a small table set in the corner of Father's gigantic kitchen. Father ate in the dining room. Aberforth generally did what he pleased. Which usually meant harassing the cooks and maids who worked in the kitchen while I ate.

"Aberforth, if you keep running amongst the stoves, you may be pushed into one," Mrs. Angleton said carefully, clearly trying to keep her annoyance out of her voice. It was the voice she always used to talk to Aberforth when she was trying to get him to do something. But she could never really sound like she didn't approve, otherwise Father would find out.

_She speaks to me like she likes me, I thought happily, spooning soup into my mouth._

Aberforth responded to her warning by edging even closer to the gigantic burning pits, where even huge pigs could be roasted. There wasn't fire in them now, but they were only cleaned once every two weeks, so there was still hardened pig fat and ash stuck to the floor and the sides. If Aberforth fell in, he'd be covered in dirt and fat--

_and I'd probably get in trouble for it._

Aberforth finally sped away from the stoves and hurried over toward me, jumping into a seat. I jerked with surprise and spilled beef barley all down my front. I felt my face angrily forming into the lets-not-make-Aberforth-throw-a-tantrum expression as I struggled not to notice the hot soup that was burning its way through my clothes.

"Hey Albus," he giggled, clearly entertained by my soup misfortune. "It goes in your _mouth,_ you know."

He was blissfully unaware that he caused the spill in the first place.

"I'll work on that," I responded, sopping up some cabbage and placing it carefully on the side of my plate. I grabbed a roll, waved to Mrs. Angleton, and left.

Aberforth trotted on behind.

"Where are you going, old chap?"

Aberforth liked to call me old chap. I'm sure he thought it was rather clever, but because it he was only seven years old, it turned out to be rather entertaining, and really not at all clever. He didn't ever seem to notice my smirk when he said it, though, as he never complained.

"I'm changing into clothes not soiled with barley," I told him.

"Ah." He nodded knowledgably.

Aberforth continued following me, his heels clicking on the wooden floor at exactly the same time as mine. I frowned. His legs were half as short as mine.

"So Albus…" he said slyly once I reached the door to my room.

"Yes?"

"You learning French yet, old chap? I just started. Ge mappelley Aberforth."

"No."

Aberforth shrieked with derisive laughter, even began slapping his knees. "Guess you're not going to court then."

I sighed. "Guess not."

Then I walked into my room, and closed the door on his face. Through the wood and walls, I could hear his laughter turn quickly into a tantrum of fabricated tears.

"Fan_tast_ic," I murmured. I turned away from the door (and my crying brother, who was no doubt running off to father right now), pulled off my shirt and pants and went in search of clean ones. I found some grey breeches and was working on the buttons when a knock came at the door.

"Master Albus?" came a feminine voice, clearly distraught.

_Really, really fantastic, I thought, feeling my chest start to constrict. I pulled a white blouse over my head and opened the door._

"Yes, ma'am?" I asked, looking up at one of the newer maids.

"Lord Dumbledore wishes to see you," she said softly, curtsied, and then hurried away.

I knew it. _Dirty coward_, I thought spitefully toward Aberforth. I quickly slipped on my shoes and tucked the blouse into my pants. I reached for a jacket and combed through my hair.

Mama's hair.

Gulping, I sped towards Father's study and took a few quick breaths before I knocked. _Don't seem flustered, don't seem worried,_ I told myself, attempting to slow my heart which was beating almost painfully in my chest. Father's study was adjacent to the family portraits, with the three generations of Lords displayed prominently in the center: stern, brown haired folks who looked at me with the same disapproving stare I knew waited on the other side of the door.

I rapped gently.

"Enter," the steely voice intoned.

I rolled my shoulders back and placed my palm on the doorknob. It felt slick under my touch, and I was a bit disconcerted to realize I was already sweating. I took another breath, walked inside, and shut the door quietly, waiting to be acknowledged.

Father's study was decorated with the Dumbledore plaid and various huge pieces of mahogany furniture. He was working at his desk, head down and quill scratching evenly. The room was so quiet it buzzed.

"You will not be going to Eton," he stated after a few moments, placing the quill onto a coaster. He stared straight at my eyes.

I blinked, feeling mildly surprised. _What? Where did this come from? Eton's not for two years._

"Your -- grandparents --" he said the word with clear disgust, "Have informed me that they will not _allow _you to go to Eton, or any school of the like."

I coughed, confused, and turned away from his cold gaze. "My… grandparents?" I said quietly.

"Yes. Averill and Mildred Prewitt."

I'd never heard the name Prewitt before. In fact, I never really knew I even had grandparents. ("Albus") That they had enough power to override my father's decisions was a rather large shock. I kept mulling over the short meeting in my mind, which had ended with the demand that "Despite you not going to Eton, I expect you to continue applying yourself in your studies," accompanied with a sneer that implied I wasn't applying myself enough.

"Albus!"

To satisfy him, I started translating the Latin poems again.

"Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore! Would you _please _pay attention!"

I looked up at Miss Summers and felt my cheeks get a little hot. She'd never had to yell at me during lessons before, but then, I'd never realized that I had grandparents who were still alive before.

"Please excuse me, Miss Summers," I said.

"It's quite alright, I've been rather flighty myself, lately," she admitted, fanning herself in the thick air. "Now, Cornelius Agrippa was born in what--"

Miss Summers paused. She seemed slightly startled, and the reason for it was clear. At the window, a large, tawny owl was patiently pecking at the glass, staring at Miss Summers, and clearly expecting to be let in.

"Miss Summers, what--"

She hushed me quickly and walked over to the window to open it. As if waiting for this cue, the owl flew at me and dropped a rather heavy envelope into my confused hands. Then it went back out.

"Thank goodness," Miss Summers said, relieved, closing the window and shutting the curtains. She appeared rather excited.

"Er… excuse me, but… what just _happened_?" I looked down at the envelope, which had my address neatly printed on the back in shiny green ink.

Mr. A Dumbledore

The Blue Bedroom

Dumbledore Mansion

Kilmarnock

Miss Summers hurried over to me and snatched the envelope. She turned it over and ran her fingers on the seal. She smiled widely and looked at me.

"You, my dear amazing boy, have been accepted at Hogwarts."

I gave her a blank stare. Hogwarts sounded rather peculiar, and not at all like something I'd want to be accepted at.

She seemed to recognize that I was rather confused, "Oh, darling, just read the letter!"

And with that she handed back the envelope to me. I looked at her, wondering _how _she could know about something like this, and tore at the seal. Inside, there was a letter, and then several sheets of parchment behind it.

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_Headmaster: Phineas Nigellus_

_(Order of Merlin, First Class, Slytherin Alumnus, Editor of Warlock Times)_

_Dear Mr. Dumbledore,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment, as well as an explanation of the school and what you can expect coming from a non-magic family._

_Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Clarence Marjoribanks_

_Deputy Headmaster_

I reread the letter carefully and looked back at Miss Summers, who was smiling broadly.

"W-witchcraft and _wizardry_?" I stuttered.

"Well yes, of course. Your Grandparents on your mother's side both attended Hogwarts, as have all of your Aunts, Uncles, and cousins. It was only your mother who couldn't go…" she paused. "But that's neither here nor there. I'm also a witch."

I pulled in a long breath. _That certainly explained the spell she put on me so many years ago._

Miss Summers must have noted my concerned expression, for she hurried on to explain, "Dear, you're a wizard. And it's nothing bad. Please, read the other bits of parchment. They'll tell you what you need to know much better than I can."

_I'm a wizard._

I flipped through the pages until I found a letter written with a loopy hand in dark green ink.

_"Dear Mr. Dumbledore,_

_"As a muggle-born, this letter must be rather confusing. Before you throw it away and declare it a piece of devilry, please think about any part of your life that maybe shouldn't have happened with the way things _normally _work."_

-- popping into my room when things went wrong -- my clothes amazingly clean after Aberforth had played a practical joke -- the ice on the pond repairing itself when I was about to fall in --

_"In fact, wizardry has nothing at all to do with devil worship, and many witches and wizards are active members of the Christian religion. The idea that we are evil was a rumor that the Ministry for Magic encouraged so as to further separate our world from that of muggles."_

"Muggles?" I asked Miss Summers, who quickly replied, "Non-magic folk."

"Non-magic folk," I repeated under my breath, unable to believe what was going on.

_"Wizards and witches have existed since before the time of Jesus Christ. Some of the most famous hail from Egyptian Pharaohs. Many important "muggle" scientists have also been wizards or witches, including Cornelius Agrippa, Paracelsus, and Claudius Ptolemy._

_"It is necessary that we apprise you of the laws governing witches and wizards. Unless you are in exceptional circumstances (as defined by paragraph eight of the Statute), using magic in the presence of a muggle is seen as a severe breach of the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy of 1692, and could lead to possible expulsion from Hogwarts, as well as the breaking of your wand. Please keep practice of magic to a minimum, and preferably only in the full view of a wizard or witch who is of age (aged 17 or older)._

_Sincerely,_

_Ida Waffling_

_Minister for Magic"_

I looked blankly at the piece of paper. How could it be possible that I hadn't known? That I had an entire family of wizards who had never talked to me? That Miss Summers had never told me?

"Is this--is this why my grandparents didn't want me to go to Eton?" I asked slowly, still reading the surprising lines "please keep practice of magic to a minimum…".

Miss Summers looked flustered. "Your grandparents? When did they speak with you?"

"They didn't. They told Father that they wouldn't let me go to Eton," I said.

"Well," she said, eyes downcast, "That's certainly interesting. But I assume yes, this is why they didn't want you to go."

I looked over the several bits of parchment in my hand. On the sheet I hadn't read, by the Headmaster Phineas Nigellus, there were random words throughout the letter, like Gryffindor, Slytherin, sorting, house points… all of which I didn't quite understand. The promised list of necessary school supplies was enclosed, as well as a small packet of what looked like sparkling green powder. I turned back to the first letter, which explained that I'd been accepted.

"Owl by July 31?" I asked, rereading.

"Oh, don't worry, I'll take care of that. I need to buy your school supplies, here, give me the list and you and I can go fetch them in Diagon Alley in a few days."

"Diagonally?" I felt a little faint now. _I'm a wizard._

"Yes, its in London. Now give it here, I need to know how much money to get from your father."

"My… my father?" I said, rather panicked.

"Of course, who did you think would be paying for all of this, me? Now, the list," she motioned with her arm firmly.

Feeling rather like I'd been knocked on the head with a very large object--I knew I would be getting a huge headache within the next few minutes, my skull had already begun to pound--I handed Miss Summers the list, gathered up the pieces of parchment, my notes, and made my way back to my room.

_I'm a wizard._

---

Miss Summers announced we'd be going to the "Diagon Alley" a few days later. Her pockets were stuffed with gigantic golden coins, smaller silver ones, and tiny coppers, clearly ready to shop. The money was completely foreign, so I assumed that was the currency _wizards _used. The word still gave me a sickly feeling in the bottom of my stomach, even days after receiving the Hogwarts letter.

Father, upon hearing about my acceptance, hadn't spoken to me once. Even when Aberforth complained about something I did or did not do, he still did not say a word.

"_You foul, dirty treacherous fiend! The devil is on you!"_

I gulped. Miss Summers pulled me to the fireplace in her room and smiled broadly. She gave me a tiny sack of shimmering green powder.

"This is called floo powder. You place some of it into your hands, throw it into the flames, step inside, and say where you want to go," she told me, matter-of-factly.

"I'm supposed to step inside of fire?" My voice quavered a little.

"Of course, it's perfectly safe. I'd demonstrate for you, but I'm running out and I don't want you to be left here alone." She pointed a piece of wood at the fireplace. "_Incendio!_"

A ball of flame burst from the tip of the wood and traveled quickly to the grate, erupting in a shower of fire. I glanced at it nervously, then pointed towards the wood. "Is that a--a--"

"A wand, yes. Don't worry, you'll be getting one as well. Now, pour a little of the powder into your hand, there's a good boy."

I stared at the substance, unable to believe that I wouldn't be burnt to a crisp once I stepped inside the flames, but hoping I'd be fine all the same.

_I'm a wizard._

"Alright now, Albus. Once you throw the floo powder into the fire, step inside and say 'The Leaky Cauldron.' Do you understand?" She looked a little concerned, apparently finally realizing that I was just the tiniest bit frightened.

"I--I believe so."

I stepped up to the still smoldering wood and felt a wave of heat wash over my body. Shaking a little, I threw the powder into the flames, which turned a brilliant shade of green. The heat from the fire desisted, and I carefully stepped into the grate.

It felt like I was standing in a warm rain shower. I could feel the flames lick my face, yet I knew I wasn't getting burned.

"_Your blood will not taint this son."_

"The Leaky Cauldron."

Immediately the world around me became a whizzing mass of green. I could see dozens, if not hundreds of fireplaces whirling past. I started feeling a little nauseous right before my body practically spat out of a random fireplace. A few dozen witches and wizards stared at me as I stood up, wiping ash from my clothes. Each of them wore long robes of different colors, some with various lacy decoration. I looked down at my breeches and shirt, feeling out of place.

Swallowing the feeling of nausea leftover from traveling through the fireplace (or maybe from the semi-hostile glances), I blinked at the large room, where clinks of silverware on plates and slight laughter was heard scattered throughout the dining area. Some of the _wizards _continued to talk amongst themselves, throwing a few looks back my way now and then. The barkeep dried cup after cup, openly glaring at me.

Miss Summers appeared in the fireplace, finally, none the worse for wear. She wiped off a stray bit of ash and smiled. Grabbing my hand, she walked over to the bar.

"Hey there, Ben. Could I have a glass of butterbeer for me and my charge here."

Ben looked at me doubtfully but nodded, grabbed two flagons and filled them with a light brown foamy substance.

"Who's this?" he asked, looking over my clothing.

As if prepared for such a question, Miss Summers said breezily, "Grandson of Averill and Mildred Prewitt."

"Ah," he said, his stance warming a bit. "I haven't met this one, new to Hogwarts this year?"

"That's right he is," Miss Summers said proudly, taking a swig of the butterbeer and winking at me. "I expect him to do quite well there."

"Any member of the Prewitt family will do well, Glenda," Ben smiled. He turned to me, "What, don't like butterbeer?"

I quickly took a sip, gulped, and whispered, "'Course I do."

"Shy one, is he?" asked Ben.

"Yes, his father's rather… secluded," Miss Summers responded haltingly, finishing with a fake smile.

Ben went to take care of other customers. I sat and drank the butterbeer, which warmed my stomach and reminded me a bit of the hot chocolate Mrs. Angleton made, only with caramel. After I'd finished the glass, Miss Summers slid off her stool and motioned for me to follow. She took out her wand, and we stepped through a door in the back. I breathed deeply, glad to be away from all the stares. We were at a dead end outside of the bar. Miss Summers walked up to the alley's end and tapped on a few bricks in succession as if this were an every day occurrence. The bricks began shaking, and moved apart to form a huge doorway. I gawked, astounded, at the sight before me, and had to remind myself that _magic _existed.

Hundreds of witches, wizards, and children were stuffed into a narrow alley, which was lined on either side by crooked looking shops. Ware sellers could be found at every empty space, encouraging passerby to look at homemade potions ingredients or rare plants for healing. Children ran around, casting magic through the air and turning friends ear's different colors or making them unable to speak (reminding me strongly of Aberforth), which the parents then ended with an annoyed "_Finite Incantatem." _I hadn't realized there were so many people in the world who could perform magic.

Miss Summers noticed my stare and pulled me to a corner. She bent down and spoke to me eye to eye.

"Albus, you mustn't look so surprised."

"I'm sorry, Miss Summers," I said lowly, trying to assume her seriousness.

"Just pretend like we're walking through another part of Kilmarnock, darling. You _mustn't _act as if you've never seen this before," she repeated.

"But… but I haven't."

"I know dear," she said, smoothing my hair and standing up again. "Just please, do what I say."

Miss Summers grabbed onto my hand again and walked swiftly to the Cauldron Shop, pulled out a few shiny coins and bought a heavy pewter cauldron, which she handed to me. The apothecary came next, and the cauldron was soon full of tinkling beakers filled with strange substances. The helper informed Miss Summers they had an "anti-breaking charm" cast on them. More shops, more things, and many books followed. Eventually my arms became so weighed down that Miss Summers made a trunk appear from _nothing. _She began packing in the potions beakers, ingredients, cauldron, my books, and quills and parchment. Certain that such a box couldn't _possibly _fit everything we needed, I looked inside and noticed that the space was practically the size of my room at home.

"What did I say about staring?" Miss Summers reminded me out of the corner of her mouth.

I quickly pulled my head out of the box and continued to follow, acting like I was walking through the streets of Kilmarnock.

I finally sat down at Madam Brousseau's Perfect Fit, where there was a queue of new students waiting for robes. I stared at my feet, Miss Summers humming to my right. A few minutes later, a squat, smiling assistant stopped next to us.

"Hogwarts?"

"Yes."

"What fabrics would you like?"

"Cotton, two silk, and wool."

_Silk? Father gave her enough money for silk?_

"Right," the Assistant said. She looked a little like Mrs. Angleton. I expected her at any moment to offer me a sweet roll. Instead, she let go of the parchment she'd been copying on. It remained floating in place, quill poised to take notes. I reminded myself not to gawk. "Please follow me."

That last sentence was to me, so I walked into a spare room, Miss Summers following. The Assistant, who identified herself as Martha Malkin, quickly pulled out a measuring tape that started measuring my entire body all on its own.

Don't gawk.

"So you need the entire Hogwarts student package?" she asked gently, rummaging through a closet nearby.

"Yes. We'd also like two pairs of dragon hide gloves, not one, and three black day wear hats with embroidery." Miss Malkin's quill added notes next to the measurements it had been taking down, switching sides of the paper as Miss Summers spoke.

"What kind of embroidery would you prefer?" Miss Malkin asked, the different fabrics in hand. She showed them for approval, and Miss Summers nodded.

"Runes of protection, on only two."

The quill noted that as well.

Seven minutes, and what seemed like dozens of questions and requests later, the scroll rolled up and the measuring tape fell to the ground. Miss Malkin smiled at me, then looked back up at Miss Summers.

"Your order will be finished in approximately three hours. Thank you for shopping at Madam Brousseau's."

With a smile, she popped out of the room.

My mind was racing with what had just happened. I realized I was starting to get a headache again, and I looked pleadingly at Miss Summers. She rubbed my head apologetically.

"Just a few more stores Albus, then we'll be done."

I was about to collapse by the time we reached what appeared to be the end of the alley. I tried to stay awake, but it was really hard.

"Last one, dear."

I looked up at a sign, which said "Ollivander's, Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC." It appeared fairly dingy, and inside the window (which needed a good scrubbing), there was a single wand resting on a dusty purple cushion. I followed Miss Summers inside. One spindly old chair sat surrounded by hundreds of small boxes, lining the shelves which seemed to stretch on forever. Miss Summers, spying a place to sit, promptly fell onto the beaten cushion. I stepped up, looked back and forth for someone, and eventually noticed a small bell. I pushed it, and instantly, a man appeared from the back with a blank expression on his face.

"And you are?"

I looked at Miss Summers, she nodded. "Albus Dumbledore."

The man looked to be in his mid-thirties. He nodded, his pale eyes instantly memorizing my face.

"Right-handed?" Snapping his wand, another measuring tape began flying all over me. I stood quite still.

"No, left," I said slowly, entranced by the tape measure.

"Parentage?"

"Squib and muggle," Miss Summers answered, while I stared blankly at Mr. Ollivander, who had disappeared into the stacks.

"Grandparentage?"

"Pureblood, the Prewitts."

Mr. Ollivander emerged, with what had to be 15 or more boxes perched in his arms. He set them carefully down. He opened the first box and gave the wand to me, then motioned that I should swish it.

Nothing happened.

I tried the next wand, and then the one after that. I was getting rather confused (and bored) until finally at the twenty-seventh, a bright reddish-gold gently emitted from the tip of the wand at my swish.

"Ah hah," said Mr. Ollivander, producing a creepy smile. "Very powerful wand, that. Quite rare, considering your blood. Hazel wood, 12 inches, quite bendy, with a Phoenix feather core, good for Defense and Transfiguration."

I didn't understand a word of what he was saying, but Miss Summers looked fit to burst. Mr. Ollivander gave the "very powerful" piece of wood to me, Miss Summers paid for the wand, and we left. She looked at me expectantly as soon as we crossed the threshold.

"Well?"

I blinked and stared at my new possession, confused.

"Aren't you excited! You have your wand!"

I looked down. "Oh, yes, I'm quite excited. Of course."

Miss Summers beamed. We picked up my robes (a gigantic package, all of which fit in the magical trunk), and walked back to the Leaky Cauldron.

"Here, I picked up more floo powder. Go ahead, and quickly now. I'm sure you'll want to try out a few spells before you leave for Hogwarts."

I smiled weakly, "I-- of course."

---

Over the next few weeks, my lessons changed completely. Miss Summers thought it imperative that I learn the beginning charms and transfiguration spells she said every other wizarding child would have already been taught.

"Alright Albus, go ahead," she said encouragingly.

I looked at my pillow. My pillow looked at me. Apparently, I could make my pillow levitate.

"Go ahead, Albus!" she repeated.

"_Win-wingardium leviosa._" I swished and flicked, willing the pillow to move at least a tiny bit. I thought maybe it had shuddered, but then realized the window was open, and that the wind was blowing.

Miss Summers was not to be swayed. "Try again. You can do it!"

"_Wingardium levi_--er--_Wingardium leviosa._" Swish and flick again. Stare stare stare. No movement.

At Miss Summers's command, I attempted the levitation charm dozens of more times until eventually even she was sick of it.

The pillow hadn't budged. I was beginning to think it was trying to spite me.

"I don't understand," she said quietly, slapping her wand softly against her left hand. "He's pronouncing it correctly, he has the motion, yet that damned pillow refuses to move. Well, there's nothing for it."

Miss Summers looked up at me, giving a strained smile. "Transfiguration, yes?"

I sighed as she gave me a pin that I was supposed to turn into a piece of string.

I looked at it dubiously.

Miss Summers made shooing motions with her hands. "Just _try_, Albus, would you?"

Two hours and not one strand of thread or levitated anything later, I was released to my room to study chapters one and two of _An Anthology of Eighteenth Century Charms _by Tralien Tyuri. I jumped down the steps to my room and walked through the halls of my Dumbledore ancestors, who looked more dishonored by my actions every day.

"Because I _chose _to be a wizard," I said sarcastically under my breath.

_Yes, you certainly did! I just knew they'd retort._

My school supplies were stacked neatly in a corner of my room, next to the trunk Miss Summers had conjured that day in Diagon Alley. I wasn't sure whether to use it, though, as I didn't think I'd be able to get anything back out. Placing my wand carefully on my dresser, I sat on my bed and pulled out the acceptance letter from my night stand.

"_pleased to inform you" "separate our world from that of muggles" "expect coming from a non-magic family" "please keep practice of magic to a minimum"_

I closed my eyes tightly and shut the letter back where it belonged. _You're a wizard and there's nothing you can do for it; magic exists, _I told myself harshly, probably for the eight hundredth time. In less than a se'en night, Miss Summers and I would "floo" to the Leaky Cauldron, again, with my things, where we would make our way to Kings Cross station. When I was told I'd be going to Hogwarts by rail, I'd been pleasantly surprised and fairly excited (I'd never been on a train before), until Miss Summers ended the sentence with "Platform 9 and 3/4," which seemed slightly ridiculous.

Miss Summers said it was to keep muggles from finding out about the magic world.

I sighed and fell onto my bed. Mother would have been so excited about the wizarding world.

She'd always been excited about the tiniest things, especially when it made her little-bumblebee even more special, especially when it was a secret. If she'd read the acceptance letter, she would have clapped, then told Father.

She wouldn't have understood what it meant. She wouldn't have understood why Father would have… would have…

…again.

"_Please don't punish me, please stop, Mr. Dumbledore, please I'm sorry, Mr. Dumbledore, please stop…"_

I turned myself onto my side and flung my arm over my head. _Stop it,_ I told myself, trying to forget that there was a wand which was apparently 'very powerful' sitting innocently on my desk. _Remembering the past doesn't help the now. He doesn't even care, anymore._

Thirteen hours and forty-two restless minutes later, I rolled myself out of bed and sighed. The sky was beginning to lighten and I could hear the faint cries of a few morning birds. Walking over to my mirror, I stared heavily at my reflection. Same red hair, same freckled face, same arms, and same stubbly height. I yawned and pulled off my dressing gown, looking for my nice pair of slacks, blouse, and jacket. My shoes were neatly polished at the foot of the bed, and there was a small cravat laying over my wand that I was apparently supposed to fiddle with.

I had no idea how to tie a cravat.

I caught myself in the mirror again and straightened, trying once more to notice any differences.

"Who invented birthdays, anyway?" I mumbled aloud, slipping the shoes on and tightening them. "If we're going to have them, why don't we change each year, too?"

After eleven full years I hadn't yet solved that problem. I placed my wand into the inner pocket of my jacket. Miss Summers had warned me never to go anywhere without it, but it felt rather strange weighing against my chest. I sauntered over to the kitchens, my stomach rumbling excitedly over the prospect of a nice, warm breakfast. Mrs. Angleton made a fantastic maple-y oatmeal, which was possibly the most delicious thing ever created. She only served it on special occasions, and I hoped that she'd consider my birthday at least somewhat special. Especially as it was my eleventh birthday, and especially as I'd be leaving for a whole year in five days.

However, at about twenty feet away from the kitchen, I heard mumbled yells, a heaving cry, and lots of dishes being banged about. It wasn't exactly what I'd been expecting, which was Mrs. Angleton waiting by the door, ready to wish me a Happy Birthday, as she'd done for the last four years. I poked my head into the kitchen, and frowned.

Aberforth stood sobbing in the center of the room, drenched in what appeared to be maple-flavored oatmeal. Mrs. Angleton and two other cooks were trying to towel him off, all the while asking him to "please, keep your voice down" and telling him that "it's all your fault, anyway." His eyes were streaming tears, and he kept bouncing back and forth, probably trying to keep the hot cereal off of his skin (since it had soaked into his clothes). Three maids were busily attempting to mop up the mess he was making, and another was cleaning out the pot that had previously held the oatmeal. Aberforth's nanny sat at the table, staring at the tantrum glumly. It figured that he'd would ruin my breakfast. I breathed deeply, trying _not _to laugh at Aberforth's problem, and trying very hard _not _to feel disappointed about my lost meal.

I did enjoy maple-flavored cereal.

I trudged back to my room, and noticed that a rather sizeable trunk had replaced the one Miss Summers had conjured. It had my name chiseled on the lock in calligraphy, and on top, there was a small note, which hid the Hogwarts crest.

_Happy Birthday, Albus!_

_I picked this up for you in Diagon Alley a few days ago. Its an Expandable, Thief-Proof trunk. According to the pamphlet, it'll never run out of space, and no one but you can open it (and if they try, they'll get a nasty surprise; Anti-Thievery Charms, you know). I left the instructions on your desk. Get packing, only five more days!_

_Auntie Summers_

I hadn't called her Auntie Summers in more than seven years.

I turned to my desk and picked up the instructions, flicking my gaze between them and the trunk. Expandable, Thief-Proof Trunk? The instructions said the first tap of wand and a password of my choice would 'set it properly'. Only my voice, word, and wand could open it after that.

Thinking carefully, I pulled my wand out of my jacket and poked it, muttering "socks." The lock clicked, and I delicately pulled the top up, looking inside.

It didn't appear to be Expandable. Instead, it actually looked rather standard. There was a large sack sitting in the left corner, with a note next to it in Miss Summers' writing that said "From your Father." I opened it and blinked at the shine; there had to be over 100 large gold 'Galleons' in there. Quickly shutting the sack with surprise, I wondered _why _he'd given me money--or more likely, what Miss Summers had threatened to do for it. The amount in there made me a little uneasy, and this without even knowing how many crowns a galleon was worth. I doubt Father had ever given _anyone _that much money in his entire life.

Replacing my wand, I began stacking the robes from Madam Brousseau's, the cauldron and potions ingredients, large bits of parchment, multiple quills and ink, and a few of my books into the trunk. Every time the pile reached the top, the bottom of the trunk seemed to retract, leaving room for just _one _more book, or just _one _more cloak. I picked up the side and looked at the floor, which did not have a hole the size of the trunk bored into it. Shaking my head and reminding myself that I had to get used to this whole magic idea, I walked to my closet to gather my dressing robes.

Mother would have found the trunk funny. She probably would have put every piece of clothing inside, just to make sure it never filled up.

---

Five days and still not a word from Father later, Miss Summers and I were once again positioned, floo powder at the ready, in front of her fireplace. A short _Incendio_, and Miss Summers was once more reminding me to go to the Leaky Cauldron, imploring me to stay put when I arrived, and to _try _not to attract any attention.

Miss Summers' door flew open, and Aberforth rushed inside, his face red from exertion and a look of determination in his blue eyes.

"I've decided to go with you, old chap," he said haughtily. I noticed a small sack of clothes being held tightly to his side.

"No, you haven't," responded Miss Summers, forcing him back out.

"Why does Albus get to go, and I don't?" he whined.

Miss Summers pushed him out of the room, and as she closed the door she told Aberforth softly, "Because Aberforth, you're not ready yet."

She tapped the doorknob with her wand, and it glowed slightly. I could hear Aberforth on the other side, first rattling the doorknob, then banging on the wood, and after realizing he wouldn't be able to enter, crying. Miss Summers shook her head, dumped a little floo powder in my hands, and motioned towards the fireplace impatiently.

I arrived in the Leaky Cauldron a tiny bit more gracefully than the last time, in that I didn't slide out ten feet and, though covered in soot, was at least not on my rump. There weren't nearly as many wizards and witches this time, so only a few noticed me arrive. I dragged the trunk (which now sported wheels) over to the side of the fireplace and grabbed a spare bit of robe to wipe off the ash. Miss Summers appeared a moment later, looked me over, and muttered "_Scourgify!_"

I blinked. All the ash was gone from my trunk and robes, as was a small egg stain that had been on my shirt a few weeks ago, and all the dirt that had accumulated under my nails over the past several days. My black, "dragon-hide" shoes even looked like they'd been newly shined. I did, however, feel like I'd been scrubbed heavily. I could feel my arms start to burn red.

"You don't have a second chance for a first impression," Miss Summers said smartly, exiting the Leaky Cauldron, wand pocketed, and my hand grasped firmly in hers, ignoring my slight discomfort.

There were hundreds of people walking along the streets. Acting as if they didn't exist, Miss Summers plowed through, determinedly shoving people aside as we made our way to King's Cross. I'd never seen her quite so focused--

"_One day your father will realize he's absolutely nothing, baby Albus. He's nothing, and he'll never be anything again. He's worthless. Absolutely nothing." --_

The stench of horse manure followed us the entire walk to the station. I was jostled back and forth, and several times I saw tiny kids trying to feel into Miss Summers pockets for some money. All of the roads were paved with cobblestones, and I could hear the wheels of carriages crunch over stray gravel underneath the din. The sky was a large, smoky grey, with billowing clouds coming from buildings off in the distance. The sun hid behind the grey. I stared at it easily without my eyes hurting.

"Stop _dawdling_, Albus!" Miss Summers said impatiently, when Kings Cross Station appeared in our line of sight. It loomed in the distance, gleaming and looking practically new. The bricks were only starting to grey from the smoke in the air, and the molding was still smooth. We walked inside. Dozens of tracks stretching off into nothingness, so far away they were swallowed by the grey, cloudy sky. There weren't nearly as many people here as in the street, and most of them were dressed nicely. I wondered blankly how the women managed to balance with such large hats lying precariously on the top of their heads, as every single woman I saw looked like she was holding an elephant made of various colors on her head.

Miss Summers halted abruptly between platforms nine and ten. She looked around and then matter-of-factly _walked through the wall_, dragging me along with her. I shut my eyes tightly, ready to run into it, feel squished, or something equally unpleasant.

Eventually we stopped, and Miss Summers tapped me on the head impatiently with her wand. I opened my eyes and saw a gigantic, bright red steam train, happily emitting white smoke. To the right of it was a sign that said Platform 9 3/4. I looked behind me and stared at the wall we had just walked through. From this side, it was invisible. I could see people moving back and forth beyond it, not even noticing that the wall hid a secret world.

Miss Summers's wand rapped me on the head again. "Stop _gawking, _Albus!" She pulled me to a bench and sat us both down. I looked forward, trying _not _to stare at the train, while being quite puzzled that it was so amazingly red. The steam issuing from it also smelled more like sugar, rather than actual smoke. It had 5709 written on the front in proud gold letters. A few students laughed in a group together, and some others were boarding the train, saying goodbye to their parents. A clock above me read 10:45.

"Pay attention, boy!" Miss Summers snapped, and I immediately apologized, turning towards her and looking at my hands.

"Now, this is important, so I want you to remember everything I say. If someone asks you who your family is, you're a _Prewitt_. When they ask who your father is, tell them he went to Durmstrang--"

"Durmstrang?" I asked.

"Another wizarding school, now--"

"But Father _wasn't _a wizard," I interrupted, speaking quietly.

"I _know,_" she murmured, but continued. "Your family is usually in Ravenclaw. If they ask why you don't know much about wizarding, tell them your father enjoyed seclusion. Do you understand?"

I nodded. "But why do I need to lie?"

Miss Summers' mouth formed a straight line. Her voice was grim, "Because I said so. Now get on that train."

My throat was curiously constricted as I walked towards the Hogwarts Express, which had begun to whistle shrilly. All around me, people were getting on. I gave Miss Summers a short wave, breathed in deeply, and stepped into the red.

* * *

**Notes: **Comments are appreciated. Heavily constructive comments are especially appreciated, and be certain that I will take them into consideration, if not change the story for posting on FictionAlley, Mugglenet, PhoenixSong, Checkmated... etc. I realize the story hasn't yet been Britpicked--it's getting there, and will be eventually. Once it is, I'll be sure to re-upload. Many thanks to **lilasiancutie** for posting a comment ont he Prologue.


	3. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

The inside of the train was a gaggle of students rushing back and forth, saying hello to friends and giving me sidelong glances as I struggled with my trunk through the hall, looking within each compartment to see if there were any empty. I doubted it. I'd left Miss Summers probably about five minutes before the train was due to depart. The traffic thinned out; I was the only student left in the corridor. I pulled in a deep breath, setting down my trunk in the luggage car. There was nothing for it, I'd have to share a compartment with other students. I'd known that I'd have to, of course, but I hadn't really imagined walking into one and having things go well. Things wouldn't go well. Things never went well.

I walked out of the luggage car and nervously began peeking into each compartment, checking for one mostly open. Suddenly, the train lurched forward; I felt chugging beneath my feet, and I almost toppled over.

"Watch yourself," said an older boy, catching me and putting me to rights. He had a nice, round face, and mousy brown hair. There was a shiny badge pinned to his right lapel, with a "P" emblazoned upon it. "Would you like some help? Can't stay in the corridor the entire trip to Hogwarts."

I felt my cheeks go slightly red. I shook my head, agreeing.

I followed him even farther down, as he tried to make conversation. "So, what're you called?"

"Er… Albus."

He looked back at me. "Weasley?"

I shook my head, looking down at my feet.

"Prewitt?"

Remembering Miss Summers' words, I nodded, feeling another blush. _You'd think after everything I'd be able to _lie _by now, _I thought miserably.

"Knew it had to be one of them, red hair, you know," the boy said jovially. "I'm Jonathon Longbottom, Gryffindor Prefect." He stopped, and pointed to a compartment where two girls were giggling together. "There's a lot of room in here, and I know Mirabella, she's quite kind, if a little wooly. Now get on inside, I need to get to the Prefects' compartments."

He gave me another nice smile, and was gone.

I stared into the compartment. The two girls, though one of them at least was "quite kind," seemed rather imposing. They were situated close to one another and smiling brightly. Whatever they were talking about probably did not want to be interrupted by an awkward, newly-turned eleven-year old. The older looking one was gesturing widely. She had deep brown hair and eyes to match, with freckles all over her face. Her companion, a girl with white hair and eyes of an unknown color, looked interested although uncomfortable: her back was straight as Father's dining set at home, and her hands sat neatly on her lap.

_Father'd probably like her,_ I decided.

The train suddenly gave a wild turn to the right and I tumbled, once again, but this time there was no Prefect to catch me. There was a loud THUMP against the compartment door followed by the sound of my forehead and nose falling into the bottom half. Rubbing the bridge of my nose, the door opened and the older girl (_witch, she's a witch_) peered down at me, giggling.

"Well, what a surprise," she murmured, bending down to look at me. "Who're you?"

"I'm, er, Albus," I stammered, picking myself off the ground. "A, uh, prefect said I could sit here."

"Prefect, eh? Better say yes then, or else I might get a detention! Well, get in here, Albus."

She shuffled me inside, and I carefully placed my book bag away, very aware that I'd just interrupted their conversation in the _worst _possible way. Who was conducting this train, anyway? I sat down across from them. The seat crinkled pleasantly under my bottom--the sound of new leather. I looked out the window at the passing countryside. We'd already left London, and I was a little disappointed I hadn't seen more of it.

I barely noticed that the girls were staring at me, until the younger one cleared her throat. Blinking, I looked down and muttered "sorry."

"So what's your name, again? Sorry, I've already forgotten," the brown-haired one said.

"Albus," I repeated.

She raised her eyebrow, as if waiting for more.

"I'm a, er, well, a Prewitt," I said, rather softly.

"A Prewitt, eh? Well, I should have guessed! Not many wizards have bright red hair, like yours, y'know," she smiled brightly. "I'm Mirabella Plunkett, third year Hufflepuff, and this is Bronwen Day--, er, Dew--"

"Dwyre," Bronwen said, finally.

"Right," Mirabella continued, without trying to repeat the name. "Are you a first year?"

I nodded, feeling squeamish under their dual gazes.

"So is Bronwen. Hope you two get sorted into Hufflepuff, best house there is," her voice was firm, but I thought maybe she didn't quite believe it. I gave her a smile, hoping it looked polite. The scenery outside had gained a few goats and cows, which were chewing on the grass lazily as the train whirred by, appearing like they didn't even notice its passage. The sky, past the angry, grey, London smokestacks, shone a deep blue. A few thin, textured clouds dotted the horizon.

The compartment was silent.

"I… er, is, uh, there a privy?"

Probably glad to be rid of me, Mirabella nodded, "It's at the end of the hall, just go right and keep following. There should be a sign."

I left the compartment quickly, noticing that as I closed the door, Mirabella and Bronwen's chatter resumed. _It's only expected, _I reminded myself. _They've never met you before._ Nonetheless, I wondered whether every meeting I had with a wizard or witch at Hogwarts would be equally… silent.

I found my way to the lavatory easily. It was, as Mirabella had said, at the exact end of the hall. I watched the bright green scenery fade into the sky through a tall window situated between the compartments, then stepped into the wash room to think.

The door swung open and locked immediately behind me. I gawked at the room, glad that I could finally do so without anyone seeing.

There was a large gilded mirror on the left wall, which hung over a white marble sink. The sink had five knobs on it. Pressing one of the shining silver knobs, I gasped. _Water _fell from it, and not only that, but _hot _water.

"Amazing," I said aloud, watching its magic.

I pressed the silver knob again and the water offed itself. Still somewhat disconcerted, I made my way to the chamber pot, glad that it didn't have any magical gadgets or surprises, although I poked it with my foot to make sure. It _looked _like a regular chamber pot. It _smelt _like a regular chamber pot--one that needed to be cleaned, in fact. It was, perhaps, the only normal part of this entire room. I turned back to the sink, enthralled, and pressed another knob. A lathery substance came out, and once I smelled it, I realized it was already mixed soap. The other three knobs revealed steam, a thick lotion, and cold water. I cupped my hands and took a sip from the last knob, confused and enticed.

If magic can do this, what other miracles can it perform?

After discovering how to unlock the door (turning the doorknob left, not right), I found myself staring into annoyed blue eyes.

"What took you so long?" asked the boy. He had a large amount of black hair, which stuck up in the back and curled at the edges. A pair of glasses poked out of his robe pocket.

"I-I…"

"Oh, first year, eh? Don't worry about it, then. Just don't take so long in the baths at Hogwarts. You'll be lynched, you know," he chuckled, then moved past me, into the wash room. I heard the door click.

_Lynched?_

When I arrived back at the compartment, I noticed that the Prefect had taken up a seat, and was talking easily with Mirabella.

"How is everything, Albus?" he asked pleasantly, motioning to have me sit next to him.

I glanced at him quickly, "Alright."

"Find the privy?"

I blushed, _again,_ nodding, and looked off into the green beyond the window.

"Right, then. Bye Mirabella! It was good meeting you, Bronwen, and you too, Albus," he said quickly, standing up.

I gave him a small smile as he left, and pulled out _Hogwarts, A History._ I flipped through the pages, concerned about what the boy at the privy had said. Not that one could really 'flip' through _Hogwarts, A History, _as it had over twelve hundred pages.

"What is _that_?" asked Mirabella suddenly. I jumped slightly, losing my place in the book. Mirabella had a slightly awed look on her face.

"Er, its ah, _Hogwarts, A History_," I murmured, glancing between her, Bronwen, and the cover.

"And you _own _it?" she continued, her eyebrows furrowing now.

I nodded.

Her mouth gaped open a little. _What's so odd about owning this book? _I wondered. I looked back at the cover again. It was leather, and the title was embroidered in shimmering black ink. Since I'd gotten it, the book had grown a few pages. Apparently each edition automatically updated whenever there was something more added. It was already very heavy--it contributed most of the weight to my book bag. Miss Summers had insisted I buy it, though. "Shan't have you see something you don't expect," she'd said matter of factly in Flourish and Blotts. Along with reading all the school books, I'd been assigned _Crises in Wizarding History, Great Wizarding Events of the Eighteenth Century _(Abridged), and _Hogwarts, A History. _She'd also shoved _An Appraisal of Magical Education in Europe_ into my trunk before I left Platform 9 and 3/4, where I'd probably discover information about that Durmstrang place.

I only noticed the ringing silence in the compartment when Mirabella cleared her throat, and turned to her own book bag. I reopened _Hogwarts, A History_, and thumbed through the 300s to find my previous end.

_The first Triwizard Tournament, held in 1296 AD, took place at Beauxbatons. Hogwarts sent twelve representatives for the duration of the year. Although there was only one champion, Niall Kavanagh, the other eleven students remained at Beauxbatons to increase international understanding and cooperation._ ("Yes, but does anyone actually speak the language?") _…international understanding and cooperation. The judges at the tournament included the three heads, Xavier Rossau, Asparouh Zakhariy, and Sebille Borland. As an olive branch to the Wizards' Council (former Ministry for Magic), the French Wizarding government appointed Elfrida Clagg as…_ ("They have the most amazing green hair, if only I could see it up close!")_ … government appointed Elfrida Clagg as one of the remaining two judges. The other, of course, was held by La Sorcière Suprême, Agnes Champney._

_Two years went into deciding the point system, individual rules, and the creation of the Goblet of Fire, a charmed object which decides the three champions._ ("Well, aren't they considered beings?")_ …which decides the three champions. The Goblet of Fire, for a trial, even chose which school would host the tournaments._

I sighed, admitting defeat. Miss Summers wanted me to finish the book by Boxing Day, a long enough period of time that I could stop reading, at least for now. I gave my attention to the passing scenery, which had grown grey and dank as the sun slowly set. Dew formed lazily on the window, and my breath caused little clouds of smoke to appear then disappear in the glass, temporarily obscuring the shadows outside.

The compartment door slid open, shuddering slightly. I turned at the sound.

"Food?" asked a sour voice, which belonged to a rather pudgy wizard who had blond hair covered by a velvet bowler hat.

"No, thank you," said Bronwen softly, holding a thin book in her hands. Mirabella also declined, intent on the book in Bronwen's lap.

My stomach growled mostly inaudibly, and I flicked my eyes to the girls, before looking back at the wizard. He had a small cart in front of him, layered with candy. I gulped, and shook my head. Harrumphing, the sour-voiced man left.

I furrowed my body into the leather seat. _Hogwarts, A History_ rested on my lap as I watched time tick by outside the window.

"If all the first years could please gather over here!"

The voice was low and feathery. The moon was already visible in the sky, and I could feel people shoving all around me. I wondered whether I should get my trunk, but was swept off the train within the crunch. The platform was made of soft wood, and a creaking sign above said "Hogsmeade." Trees lined the area, and my breath rose in a soft cloud from the night air.

"Hullo there, Albus," came the smiling voice of the Prefect. He never seemed very far off.

"Good evening, uh…" I paused, embarrassed.

He grinned kindly, "Jonathan Longbottom. It's quite alright, worry not. Wasn't until this last year that I started making an effort to learn a few names here and there. Now I'll have to start all over again--new professors, and all that, not to mention a new caretaker. Last year was quite memorable, in that respect."

I nodded, not understanding at all. "Do I, uh, well--my trunk?"

"Oh!" His smile was still on his face. "It'll be taken up by the house elves. Just go over there and stay with Professor Pokeby, she'll let you know what to do."

Gulping, I thanked him, _Jonathan,_ and pushed my way through the throng. Despite the cold air, I'd begun to sweat. Hoping I wasn't about to start smelling, too, I smiled grimly at a girl standing next to me, who raised a small, black eyebrow in return, and turned to speak with a girl to her left, who had a nose resembling a squished pig's snout. Bronwen moved easily through the crowd, appearing near Professor Pokeby's side. Finally, when no one was left but a mass of cold (sweating), scared first years, the woman spoke again.

"Excellent, now if you would all please follow me to the boats," Professor Pokeby instructed, turning easily and moving softly down the path towards a shimmering black lake. I trundled along, hearing snippets of conversation as I went, the air slowly becoming damper. Suddenly, the wooden path turned, and we could make out Hogwarts.

A few gasps of delight rang around the group. I eyed the girls to my left, and noticed the black haired one looked annoyed, although her eyes reflected the sparkling black of the lake.

The castle was gigantic. It overlooked the lake from the top of massive, sharp cliffs. Huge towers rose asymmetrically about the outer edges, surrounding the high roofs and various ornamental turrets. Gothic windows stretched across the outside, glimmering darkly in the fading night, the lower walls surrounded by a thick ivy which wound its way across doorways and brick. Several gleaming buildings lay to the right of Hogwarts, looking like tiny doll houses next to the enormity of the castle. Beyond the lake was a deep forest full of dark, towering trees whose shadows stretched across the silent water.

"Four to a boat, please," Professor Pokeby said, pointing with her wand at tiny boats I hadn't noticed before. I clamored inside, and Bronwen appeared next to me, smiling politely. I nodded back, and pulled my robes tightly, wondering why Miss Summers had insisted I wear the silk. Professor Pokeby looked about, long, light hair flying as she turned her head to and fro.

"Everyone in?" she asked. "Good. Forward!"

The boats began moving towards the looming castle of their own accord. I blinked carefully. _Magic exists, _I reminded myself, _And I'm a wizard._

The surface of the water barely rippled as the boats skimmed through, making tiny splashing noises under the whispers of the other students. I gazed at my hands, covered in dragon-hide gloves. No words were spoken within the tiny confines of the boat, and although awed whispers floated gently through the air, real noise came only from the blanket of quiet that draped our descent to the castle.

A quiet before the storm.

The boats docked at a rocky beach next to a deep tunnel with no clear end. Professor Pokeby held up her wand, muttered "Lumos" firmly, and waved with her other hand for us to follow.

The tunnel's floor was soft and smooth, its cavernous shape leaving echoes of our footsteps. I started shivering; the tunnel turned back and forth, climbing steadily upward until Pokeby's dim light emerged from the ground. I stopped, staring at a set of twelve deep steps, which lead to a set of large oak doors.

"Nox," the Professor said, walking swiftly up the stairs, where she rapped sharply on the door. It was opened immediately by a rather tall wizard. He had dark hair pulled back into an effortless ponytail. His cravat was tied simply, yet still far better than any attempts I'd ever made. His nose jutted straight from his eyes, reminding me strongly of my father.

"What _took _you so long, Columbia?" he said lowly, sounding like he had a rather strong cold.

Professor Pokeby arched her eyebrow at him, "You try seeing how long it takes sometime, Professor Marjoribanks." She swept past.

Looking somewhat affronted, Professor Marjoribanks cleared his throat, looking down his sharp nose at our group. "Right, well, get inside."

I followed glumly, my feet moving slowly up the eighth step, then the ninth, tenth, eleventh, and finally last. The floor changed from granite to a smooth cobblestone, and I lifted my eyes from the ground.

The hall we'd entered into seemed as massive as the castle from the lake. It could probably fit over one thousand people comfortably. A great clock stood at the opposite end, overseeing another pair of doors. Muffled conversations were coming from behind it. (_…built in 878 AD during a time of great muggle crises, the Hall and first floor were originally wooden buildings and housed the entirety of the staff, students, and eventually ghosts…_) A great fire crackled in the corner, and four gigantic hourglasses with green, red, yellow, and blue sand remained perched at the top.

Professor Marjoribanks ambled towards a small door, hidden next to the fireplace. Herding us all inside, he closed the door and gave a strained smile.

"I expect you all know about the sorting. It should have been included in your letter if your families could not know. It will begin in due course, and I'll be back to fetch you then."

And he left.

Blinking, I peered at the other students, who also appeared confused. Bronwen was pulling lint off of her robes. The black haired girl whispered sharply to her snout-nosed friend.

"Fantastic," intoned a voice from the back. A few people nodded. A boy across from me played with something in his robe pocket, a look of intense contemplation on his face, his robes reeking with a strange, disgusting smell. Bronwen frowned, and gave him a few more feet of room. Seemingly noticing, the boy smiled wanly and pulled his hand out of his pocket. The smell stopped.

Professor Marjoribanks poked his head inside, frowning condescendingly. "What are you all still doing in here? Follow me, quickly. We've been waiting for three _minutes._"

The doors to the great hall were open. Hundreds of eyes stared. The only sound in the whole room was the shuffling of our feet and the slow wisp of robes. At the other end of the hall, a pointed, bedraggled hat sat on a three-legged chair. Directly behind it, a man in striped black and green robes sniffed, his eyes sweeping over the group with barely hidden disgust. His hair was mostly white, but random streaks of black were sprinkled through it like pepper. It was held in place firmly, revealing a balding widows peak. A triangular beard jutted out from his chin, quivering slightly whenever he frowned (which was often).

Sauntering to a seat at the high table, Professor Marjoribanks grabbed a large scroll and stared expectantly at the hat.

All was quiet for a few minutes.

I shifted back and forth on my feet.

"Start, you disgusting lump of cloth," snapped the sharp, annoyed voice from the wizard in black and green.

A dull, rasping laughter resounded throughout the hall. Startled, I noticed it came from a rip in the hat's brim, which moved delightedly and was shaped like a mouth.

_Magic Exists._

The laughter stopped, but instead of more silence, the hat began to speak, hoarse voice echoing.

"I am a Sorter!  
Just attach me to your head,  
And I will place you.  
Hufflepuff is true--  
Gryffindor utterly brave;  
Slytherin quite sly, cunning.  
Ravenclaw is smart."

More silence.

The hat looked pleased.

Yet more silence.

Whispers, growing in volume, started traveling across the room once the surprise had worn off. ("What the devil was that?") ("Doesn't he usually rhyme?") ("Ooch, I could use some Haggis"). My stomach grumbled unpleasantly and unexpectedly. Every student and staff member looked just as confused as I felt. I looked surreptitiously at a few of my fellow first years, trying to discover just what was going on, when the brim stretched open again, and in a keening, sarcastic voice, the hat added, "I'm done. Begin the Sorting, already."

"The hat's been trying to branch out, you know, choose different forms of _poetry,_" drawled a man to my right.

I started. The speaker next to me floated a few feet off the ground and was a sickly cream color. His head bobbed precariously as he shook it in distaste."Last year it attempted a Sestina. That was awful, but this certainly wasn't any better. I don't think they're meant to be written in English, haikus."

The wizard in the center of the high table _(…Phineas Nigellus, 392nd headmaster of Hogwarts, began his career as Potions professor. Upon the tragic and mysterious death of Francis Fortescue, the school governors awarded him with the position of Headmaster, which he has retained since 1805...)_ looked like he smelt something particularly vile, and glared dryly at the hat, then swept his annoyed gaze over the whispering students. Having never heard a _haiku _before, I was unsure of the proper reaction, but at least it hadn't mentioned someone named _Lesbia, _or girdles anywhere, a vast improvement over all the other poetry I'd read. And it was in English.

"Right," the nasal voice of Professor Marjoribanks began. The rising voices of the students died down again. "Well, let's get on with it."

The headmaster looked like he wanted to drown someone.

Clearing his throat, Marjoribanks drawled, "Ackart, Chalmers."

A blond haired boy moved easily to the stool, picked up the hat, and sat it on his head as he got onto the chair. The hall stayed hushed for only a moment before the brim opened, and "SLYTHERIN" burst out. The boy grinned, and a table at the far left erupted into cheers.

"Bane, Benjamin," Professor Marjoribanks continued.

Boy, sit, hat, "HUFFLEPUFF." More cheers, more sweat, and slowly the group around me started to thin. The table at the far left received four more students until finally, Chanteuse, Rosette, became the first new Ravenclaw. She smiled brightly, her slight pretty face and shimmering blond hair becoming a Van Gogh painting. Professor Marjoribanks (and all the students in the hall) stared at her, until she broke everyone's concentration by blushing prettily and rushing to the table at my direct left.

My heart beat faster. How many more could there be before Dumbledore, Albus?

_I'm a wizard. A wizard._ Father's leering face appeared in my mind, his distaste mirroring the disgust on the headmaster. His voice, sharp and full and deep_, "…have informed me that they will not allow you to go to Eton, or any school of the like."_ I shivered.

"Cowan, Ciadan," said Marjoribanks, his voice conveying boredom, although his eyes still flicked between his parchment and Chanteuse, Rose.

The hat paused for a number of seconds. _How does it decide? Does it speak haikus in your ear?_ I wondered. "GRYFFINDOR" yelled the hat and loud screams came behind me. I saw Jonathon excitedly slapping Cowan, Ciadan on the back as she sat nervously between him and the black haired boy I met at the privy.

"Clagg, Brian."

Automatic, no consideration needed "SLYTHERIN."

"Dumbledore, Albus."

_Thump thump_, went my heart and I all-of-a-sudden felt like I was four years old again feeling my mama being pulled away from me and despite the haikus I was scared and I could feel the sweat soaking into the silk of my robes and I'm a wizard and magic exists and it always has but then I'm on the stool and the hat's on my head and the thin, raspy voice is whispering softly into my ear

"Hello."

I gulped.

"Muggle-born, eh? Well, then… ah, I can see--and… _interesting_, very, _very _interesting. But you're not ready. No, and you may never be, so probably Hufflepuff, eh boy?"

I could feel the brim ripping open, and inside my jumbled, sad, _I'm-a-wizard_ head, the only thought I could form before it screamed it was, Why why _why_?

The hat paused, and I felt its brim reattach itself. "Why? Well, why not? Can't be in Slytherin or Ravenclaw, they're not ready. Not for a few decades, yet. But Gryffindor… well, you're much too scared."

Why _why _why? _I'm a wizard._

"Yes, yes you are," it rasped, and I felt gooseflesh along my neck. "But you, ah…"

And Mama's face was in my mind and I wanted to reach for her but she was already gone and the ripping and the tearing and I felt a tear trickle a river down my face and I didn't know why I was remembering but the brim opened and screamed "GRYFFINDOR."

I blinked as the hat was yanked off my head. I was eleven years old again and staring at the other confused first years. Professor Marjoribanks took me off the stool and pushed me forward. A few nervous smiles came from the other students. The Gryffindor table was still cheering. From the mass of still-scared first years I saw a tiny girl, slanted eyes, black hair, thin frame, bow softly as I passed. I sat down across from Ciadan and the boy from the privy, who gave me a wink.

Jonathon laughed, his Prefect badge shining in the candlelight. "Welcome to Gryffindor, Albus."

_Mama,_ I thought, rubbing my eye to check if there were any remaining tears.

Bronwen followed right after me, and her calm, grey face was sorted into Hufflepuff, where she delicately sat next to Mirabella, her hands folded in her lap. My nose was stuffed from crying. My stomach rumbled angrily. The hat considered "Foss, Ffion." The headmaster looked like he wanted to throw up.

Overall, it wasn't particularly exciting after I'd been sorted.

That is, until the smelly boy from the side room was placed into Hufflepuff. As he left the stool, a loud BANG swept through the Great Hall, followed swiftly by the unmistakable smell of burnt cow dung. A few people (girls, mostly), screamed and hid underneath the house tables.

"That's _disgusting,_" the hat mumbled unexpectedly through a haze of smoke. A few students and a single teacher with an elaborate coiffure laughed unexpectedly.

I wrinkled my nose; it was possibly one of the most sickening things that had ever wafted through my nostrils. When the smoke cleared, the boy, Grunnion, Xavier, laughed uproariously until the headmaster tapped his wand on the corner of the head table and pointed at a corner. A pale man I hadn't noticed smiled, his yellow teeth interspersed with black spaces. Grunnion, Xavier stopped laughing abruptly. He gulped, and stood next to the man, his eyes darting between the headmaster and the Hufflepuff table, all who looked rather confused.

"_Scourgify," _Marjoribanks said, annoyed. The mess was removed, but the smell still floated through the room. I watched "Ketteridge, Alfonso" step slowly to the hat, his eyes clenched shut, his hand holding his nose together tightly.

"HUFFLEPUFF," "RAVENCLAW," and then Marjoribanks called out "Li, Mingyue", and the girl with slanted eyes and deep black hair glided to the hat, placing it on her head. Her legs were crossed on the stool, hands lying limply on her right knee. The hat quickly decided "GRYFFINDOR," and she slid off easily, placed the hat back on top, and _patted _it gently.

The boy from the privy squinted. "Did she just _pat _the Sorting Hat?"

"Where's she from, you think?" Jonathon asked, frowning

On the other side of Jonathon came a drawling, unconcerned voice. "She's _Asian_. Please note the slanted eyes and yellow skin."

"Muldoon," "Parkinson," and then something completely unexpected.

"Prewitt, Archibald," said Professor Marjoribanks.

"Ah, who's he, eh Albus?" asked Jonathon, smiling nicely.

"He's, uh, er, cousin. Second cousin, I think."

But he wasn't paying attention as the hat had just called, "RAVENCLAW." Archibald Prewitt walked past the Gryffindor table, and I caught sight of shining blue eyes and bright red hair, exactly like my own, exactly like Aberforth's.

Exactly like Mama's.

I shrank down in my seat. If Archibald didn't see me, he'd probably think I was part of that other Wizarding family Jonathon said had red hair. _Why don't you want to meet your family? _asked the soft, mostly ignored part of my brain. I ignored it, or at least tried. _What are you afraid of?_

Archibald Prewitt didn't notice, and Marjoribanks yelled "Principe," "Smyth," and a nervous and jumpy "Stroulger." My stomach still grumbled angrily, but it couldn't be heard over the cheering of the students. _Oh, if only I'd eaten on the train_, I thought longingly. I couldn't believe there was still a small cluster of students after all this time. And where _was _the food? Would waiters bring it in after the sorting? Would it be, I gulped, more than one course? Would I have to wait even _longer_? I slouched myself further down in the seat, staring below the table.

A face stared back.

The man's eyes were strangely dark and glossy. He wore a striped cravat, tied into a lopsided bow, and a molded old bowler sat on his head. His suit jacket was a little too small, and his breeches a little too long. He had a wide mouth, which was currently stretched into a divisive smirk.

"Ickle firsty should learn not to stare," he whispered, slightly high pitched and croaking.

"My… my apologies," I mumbled, immediately straightening.

"What were you looking at?" asked Jonathon, patting Vilkenson, Bernard on the back as he passed.

"Nothing. Nothing at all."

_Who was that sad looking man?_ I wondered as Wenlock, Shaldrissa shuffled to the Ravenclaw table._ And what was he doing hiding under the table? _I peeked to look at him again, but he was gone.

"How did…" but I realized I was speaking aloud. The black haired boy stared at me curiously, so I decided to look at my plate: polished, gleaming, and, I discovered with a prod, most likely pure gold. Hogwarts really seemed to be a strange place--even aside from all the… the _magic._

I noticed the three remaining students had vanished, absorbed by their new houses, and that the headmaster was glaring quite obviously at the entirety of the student body. His wrinkles were especially pronounced.

"Thank you for respecting me enough to keep your mouths closed for even the short time I wish to speak," he started, snappish voice from before still in place. "As headmaster of this preschool, I am required to inform you of a number of school rules, which, if not followed, will result from at the very least a detention--" The pale man at the table's edge smiled "--to at the very most, expulsion. Please note that either of these options will be rather… uncomfortable."

Xavier Grunnion gulped audibly. He was probably still rather smelly, as Professor Marjoribanks hadn't used _Scourgify _on his person.

"First, no magic in the corridors. Second, never speak in the library. Third, corridors are closed to students, exempting prefects and heads, from nine o' clock to six in the morning. Fourth, _only _students above the third year and with a _valid _permission form are allowed to enter Hogsmeade, and _only_ on the allotted weekends."

The headmaster's voice was very dry as he listed everything. I wondered whether he had it memorized, or if there was a slip of paper in front of him he read off. There certainly seemed to be a lot of rules.

"Fifth, no food allowed in the dormitories. Sixth, although this should be gathered by rule number three, I'm sure you mo--students need to be informed: no one should be on Hogwarts grounds after dark unless given permission for Quidditch. I do not heed your own misguided notions of _uniqueness._ Seventh, don't go for a swim in the lake, I don't want to have to deal with the consequences. Eighth--"

"Oh, here it comes," mumbled the boy from the privy.

"--It is not my responsibility to take care of, or listen to, your sordid affairs or problems. I am not your parent, your nanny, or your grandfather, so do _not _treat me like one. If there are any shenanigans, they fall under the sole responsibility of your head of house. Deal with your problems on your _own._ Hogwarts does not accept idiotic two year olds for a reason, so for your own sakes make an attempt not to act as such. If, for any reason, there is need for me to be apprised of any situation you unlearned folk find yourselves in, I promise, I will not look favorably upon _either _party."

My stomach grumbled. I covered it with my gloved hand, hoping to muffle the noise. _I hope he finishes soon, _I thought. It was incredibly difficult to pay attention while so hungry, and I doubted the headmaster would give leeway because of my stomach.

"Now for a few other notices: For those who wish to try their paltry talents, Quidditch tryouts for those teams needing new members will be held next Friday afternoon to Sunday night. First years are reminded that they're far to young to join, so don't even make the effort. Last--_oh be quiet _Mr. Grunnion, you're in quite enough trouble as it is--I would introduce to you Mortimer Yetler, who will be replacing our previous caretaker." The pale man smiled, yellow teeth glinting in the light. Xavier looked quite taken aback, and he gulped again. The headmaster paused. _Food, food, food, _whispered my angry stomach and I felt obliged to agree with it.

"Eat," he finally sneered after a prolonged pause. "But at least attempt not to fatten up your stomachs _too _much. No discipline"

I turned my head toward the doors, expecting to see hordes of waiters or servants entering, but my eyes caught instead on the piles of food that had just appeared on the table. Gasping excitedly (and my stomach, too), I quickly piled oyster pudding, leeks, mincemeat, and a nicely roasted chicken leg onto my plate. _What magnificent magic, _I thought wondrously, sipping something that tasted like pumpkin.

Monday, the third day of September in the Year of Our Lord 1855, dawned early on in the morning. My bed, situated adjacent to the window, warmed from the light of the sun. The other three boys still slept peacefully. Outside, the clouds cast a murky glow over the towering trees of the forest where a glint of red flashed above the tops, followed by a hauntingly beautiful cry. I stared, waiting to see if the thing would reappear, but only the green trees moved, swaying innocently in the wind. My chest felt strangely constricted as I looked through the window. I reminded myself slowly, my personal mantra, _I'm a wizard._

I changed quickly into my school clothes, which were folded neatly inside of a large dresser next to my bed. After divesting myself of the clothes, I pulled on my school bag, filled nicely with more than half-a-dozen books, and made my way to the great hall.

As I exited the portrait, I noticed the sad-looking man from the night before, except he didn't look sad any longer… and he was floating high above the ground.

He had traded his striped cravat for a polk-a-dot one, and he was cackling loudly. Angry shouts and crashes came from the paintings lining the walls as he methodically grabbed the portraits and turned them upside down. The Fat Lady glared at the man as he giggled his way through mischief.

She looked at me. "I'd tell Professor Marchbanks if I could, but I can't leave all the students locked up, can I?"

I shook my head.

"Go on to breakfast and tell someone, would you?"

I nodded. The Fat Lady smiled grimly, then returned to glaring.

I got lost four times on the way down to the Great Hall. Not only would the staircases move, but every once-in-awhile a door I needed to go through had disappeared. I found myself wandering through a dark corridor for twenty minutes before a painting pointed me in the right direction. By now some of the other students had probably told someone at the staff table about the floating-man's tomfoolery, and I was bound to miss breakfast.

My stomach growled angrily again. _How can I still be hungry after eating so much yesterday? _I wondered as the stairs to the Great Hall finally came into view.

When I entered for breakfast, Jonathon waved me over to sit by him.

"Alright there, Albus? Here's your schedule, and try the eggs, they're delicious."

I noticed he had seven stacks of parchment in front of him, which probably contained the schedules for all the Gryffindor students. I looked down. The parchment was sectioned into five spaces for Monday through Friday, and there was a large question mark in the bottom corner.

"What's the question mark for?" I asked, wondering what sort of pattern there was to my classes.

"Put your wand to it, and say what class you want. It'll tell you where to go." He smiled, distracted, as four other students surrounded him for their own class schedules.

I pulled my wand out of my robes. It still felt strange holding a wand. I cleared my throat. "Defense Against the Dark Arts."

The question mark faded away, and was replaced by _First floor corridor, across from the portrait of Andros the Invincible. _A few seconds later, it was replaced again by the question mark.

"Herbology." _Greenhouse number one._

"History of Magic." _First floor corridor, right of the portrait of Gifford Ollerton. The door likes to disappear._

"Oi, Albus!" yelled Jonathon, breaking my concentration. He smiled again. I wondered whether he ever frowned. "Go on, you'll be late."

I nodded and gathered my books. "Er… did someone take care of the, uh, portraits?"

"Professor Marchbanks has it," he murmured, putting his books away.

"Name," said a slight woman as I walked into the classroom.

"Albus Dumbledore," I said, looking at my feet.

"Right," she nodded, checking off her attendance, "Second row in the centre, please."

I hurriedly moved to the correct seat and readied myself for class. I pulled out a quill and bottle of ink and a spare bit of parchment. On the top I wrote "Defense Against the Dark Arts, 03 September, the Year of Our Lord, 1855" and underlined it. Students were slowly filtering inside, evident by slight strains of conversation and a laugh here or there. I looked down at my parchment and made another underline. I decided I preferred it with two lines.

"I'm Bernard," said a boy, taking the seat next to me.

"Albus," I told him.

There was a slight pause. "Right. Well. You know anything about the Professor?"

It came automatically. _Professor Dierdre Liadan is an alumnus of Hogwarts, graduating class of 1843. A representative of the Ravenclaw House, since leaving Hogwarts she has received many honors and awards, and her work experience includes a curse-breaker for Gringotts bank. She retired from Gringotts in 1847, and Headmaster Nigellus invited her to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts in 1848._ Page 1278, _Hogwarts, A History._

"No," I said, doodling in the corner of my parchment. "No, I don't know anything about her a'tall."

Bernard shrugged. "We'll find out anyway, right Albus?"

I nodded. There was another pause.

"So, er, who's your family?" he asked. I noticed he'd placed his wand next to his book and quill. Wondering at it, I pulled out my own wand and carefully set it down at the edge of the table.

"Right," Professor Liadan said from the back of the room, saving me from having to respond to Bernard. "Everyone's found their way, and right on time as well."

She moved up to the front of the classroom, her mouth curving in a frown as her eyes flickered over each of the students. She looked at Bernard and me. "Wands away, boys. You won't start learning counter-jinxes until we can get down the basics."

Professor Liadan turned her back to the class, casting a spell on a piece of chalk. Words appeared on the board.

Defense Against the Dark Arts Year One  
General Knowledge

I. The development of the jinx.  
A. Ancient Babylonian wizards discovered magic could be focused through wand waving.

She returned her attention to the class. "Take notes. There will be essays and tests in the future on this. To begin, although magic existed before the time of Babylon, it was mainly used without focus or point. For the higher classes of Egypt and the people of Sumer and Akkad, the purpose of magic was for divination and respect of the gods. Wizards and witches were well known, and they worked to appease higher beings when something went wrong. However, near the end of the first Babylonian Dynasty, the great Wizard-King Hammurabi came to power. Through the work of his palace scholars, he discovered that if the _intent _of magic was focused through consecrated power tools--primitive forms of wands--it could in fact be used on a daily basis and usually in a stronger form."

"I thought this was Defense Against the Dark Arts," Bernard whispered, his face close to the desk as he scribbled down notes. "Sounds more like History of Magic to me."

"_I don't understand. He's pronouncing it correctly, he has the motion, yet that damned pillow refuses to move. Well, there's nothing for it."_

I decided I didn't mind that we weren't practicing magic just yet.

Professor Liadan continued, her voice crisp and quick. "From Hammurabi onward, magic was used without words and only mediocre arm movements. The Kittites, though, seemed to have an advanced form of wand movement and thusly broke the factions of the Babylonians in a small offensive quite easily. The use of wands spread slowly throughout the Middle East and Eastern Europe, arriving in the Mediterranean area around 750 BC. However, it was not until the famed rape of Lucretia and the creation of a Roman Republic that the _intent _of wands was further refined to include spoken words, spells, and jinxes. This helped those whose magical power was not as refined as Priests or Priestesses still focus and create through their thought.

"It is important to remember, though, that the words and arm movements do not make the spell. Each of those spells, counter spells, jinxes, counterjinxes, and charms you find yourselves learning at Hogwarts can be changed, woven in your own way to suit your desires. All that matters is your mind and heart are equally focused upon the same intent. With that, please open your books to page 14, and we'll start examining how Sextus Tarquin accidentally led to the creation of _Expelliarmus._"

Bernard's wand was still lying innocently next to his book. _Why can't **I **use a wand? I have magic… I'm a wizard…_

I walked into transfiguration a few minutes early after escaping from the droll tones of the Professor of History for Magic. He'd introduced himself as Professor Binns, said this was his second year at Hogwarts, then launched into a long, monotonous lecture on the first Egyptian dynasty and the use of magic within society. _Wish I had one of those copying quills_, I thought, remembering the woman from Madam Brousseau's. Luckily, I hadn't had to endure magic as of yet.

Professor Marchbanks sat in the front of the class, checking off students as they entered. Her stiff demeanor and dress contrasted greatly with her hair, which was arranged into a crown of balls around the top of her head. A bright pink cap rested inside of the ring. Once everyone had settled, she stood up and smiled.

"I'm Professor Marchbanks, head of Hufflepuff house. Welcome to Hogwarts, everyone."

Her voice seemed at odds with her dress, too. It was soft and likeable, but as stiff as her clothes.

"Well, let's just begin straight away."

With a swish of her wand, seven pieces of fabric zoomed out to each of the Gryffindors.

I gulped, pulling out my own wand.

She tapped her own blackboard. A large amount of writing appeared, and I quickly grabbed my quill, eager to have swish and flicking optional.

"Transfiguration is almost entirely a magic of _thought._ There really aren't many incantations within transfiguration, although if it helps, there are a number of spells within your textbook that describe what we'll be doing in the first few years. Transfiguration changes the particles of one organism into another. Because everything in the world is made up of essentially the same particles, the way to transfigure is simply to _reorganize _those pieces into something else. It won't work to stare at your fabric and think 'paper,' you must _know _that within your piece of fabric there is the potential to be paper."

I looked at my fabric. It had a black embroidery along the side that looked like slithering snakes. It didn't appear anything like paper.

"Please copy down the instructions on the board," she continued, pointing with her wand. "After you understand them well, attempt to turn your fabric to a piece of paper."

The scratching of quills began immediately. I wrote slowly, trying to put off using my 'very powerful' wand as long as possible.

'Transfiguration is defined as the art of rearranging different particles to suit your purpose'_…too cowardly to do anything right…_'almost anything in the world can be transfigured, but because human beings are so complex, they are the hardest and most dangerous to transfigure' …_this son will not be like _that_…_

When I finished note-taking I took up my wand and whirled it in a circle before pointing at the fabric.

_Paper, turn to paper. It doesn't even have to be pretty paper._

Whirl, point.

_It could be really grainy, even. Please turn to paper._

My nose started itching. Whirl, point. Whirl, point.

Whirl, point!

Next to me, Ciadan was gently poking the side of her fabric with her wand, which was returning a faint crinkling noise.

Whirl, point! _I'm a wizard, aren't I?_ On my other side, Bernard folded his fabric into a paper airplane.

…whirl, point… …whirl, point…

_Aren't I?_

* * *

**Notes: **Nothing really special to report, just that I'm running out of chapters to add so I should start working on Chapter four again. Once more, comments, especially constructive criticisms, are appreciated. Feel free to be as harsh as you like. I can take it, I promise. 


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